


A Companion Called Loneliness

by welovethebeekeeper (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, reflection of a life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 06:10:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/welovethebeekeeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock knows the antidote to loneliness: John Watson. A reflection of a life lived together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Companion Called Loneliness

Sherlock had thought he knew loneliness: all his life it had been a close acquaintance, his brilliant and unique mind separating him from his peers. He had endured a lonely childhood of material privilege but emotional poverty, where his only respite was an older brother that grew up too fast once Father had left. At school and university Sherlock had ostracized fellow students by his lack of social skills, empathy and willingness to comply with the group norms. At university he became the ‘freak’. Lonely and angry, he had lashed out with caustic wit and chilling observations, sending any prospective friend running for the hills. At twenty two he had succumbed to cocaine, finding friendship in the syringe, the high and the craving. Various rehab centers followed, with lonely rooms, lonely corridors, lonely recovery periods, watching Mycroft’s disappointment through lowered and shamed eyes. A friend had finally emerged; a detective from New Scotland Yard with an easy smile, a friendly demeanor and a willingness to let Sherlock close; the catalyst to leave the cocaine and enter the thrilling world of the criminal mind.

Crime was Sherlock’s niche, yet the police working with Lestrade acted as the students in university, and rejected Sherlock from any fraternal bonding. Only Lestrade put in the time and energy to learn Sherlock’s idiosyncrasies, to accept him and value, not only his insight and abilities, but his hidden vulnerability. Yet Sherlock did not see Lestrade as the friend he was. Loneliness still permeated his existence, therefore he filled his time with his own intellect, building palaces in his mind and languishing there for days on end.

Then one day the sunshine and light found Sherlock, in the person of Doctor John Watson. An immediate attraction between the two men was evident  and within forty eight hours of first setting eyes on one another, the two knew they had found the complimentary piece to themselves, the soul mate, the one, and loneliness was banished from Sherlock’s life for a glorious period of eighteen meager months. Happiness prevailed until a psychotic, brilliant, Irish megalomaniac orchestrated the downfall of Sherlock; the burning of Sherlock’s heart and along with it the heart of John Watson.

Sherlock was alone for two years following the event at St Bart’s, yet his loneliness was mitigated by the knowledge that John Watson was alive and therefore a hope glimmered of being reunited. Every day was lived for John, every day was a day closer to being with John, every day was difficult but survivable, because of John.

Sherlock returned once safety was established and found John had moved on. Moved on to a ‘normal’ life, a fiancee and plans for a traditional life. 

Sherlock had thought he knew loneliness; seeing John, but not being with John, was a new level of loneliness, devastating and bottomless, a dark hole that consumed Sherlock. 

 

*******

 

Following the initial anger, shock and betrayal, with punches, rejection and words that tore into Sherlock as damaging as any bullet, John began to accept Sherlock’s explanations and apology. But there was a woman now, a stranger in Sherlock’s world that laid claim over the very person Sherlock belonged to and belonged with. Mary Morstan was ‘involved’ in the dynamics of Sherlock and John’s relationship, and Sherlock could not fathom that fact; he looked at her through quizzical eyes, wondering how she existed in such an intimate space betwixt John and himself. 

Loneliness was overwhelming; as John went home to Mary after a case, when John excused himself from a case to meet Mary for lunch, in John’s insistence that Mary must be considered in every decision he made with Sherlock, in every intrusive phone call that took John Watson away from Sherlock. Loneliness was difficult to escape, especially at night, when Sherlock was acutely aware of where John was; in bed with Mary. Sherlock had kept his sexual fantasies concerning John at the far reaches of his psyche so that John would never know they existed, but now they lay dormant in the front of his brain as jealousy danced across them, green streaks and red anger, black hatred and yellow nausea. Sherlock was lost in his loss.

The love he had for John allowed Sherlock to stand beside the good doctor as his Best Man for the wedding. In retrospect, Sherlock had no idea how he had accomplished the feat, it was the most difficult thing he had ever done in his life. He had ‘died’ for John, been separated from John for John’s sake and attended the wedding in order to support John in his choice of life partner. Sherlock ached with sorrow, knowing he was John’s life partner and one forced event off a rooftop, had wrenched that future from him in a few brief seconds.

The months of John’s newly married life held no respite from loneliness for Sherlock, he locked every emotion in a cocoon of hard edges and rapier intellect, sarcasm and indifference. Until one evening on John’s imminent departure home to Mary, he threw one barbed insult too many and John snapped. A huge argument ensued with anger raging in 221B, insults, truths, and history used as weapons of destruction, leaving both men emotionally exposed as they locked eyes across the living room. 

How John crossed the physical divide between them, Sherlock would never know. How John kissed him, and kissed him and kissed him, Sherlock would never forget. How they arrived in Sherlock’s bed, naked, covered in sweat and each others semen Sherlock would never regret. How tears escaped their eyes and heralded sobs and declarations of eternal love, want and need, Sherlock would never delete.

The terrible loneliness ended when John declared he was Sherlock’s and had been since the day they met, when John vowed to never leave Sherlock, when Sherlock heard himself say the word’s ‘I love you”, when John asked if Sherlock would let him come home. When they finally, finally, smiled real smiles of joy at each other, and knew it was the end of the separation.

Mary was hurt and angry, John guilty and ashamed, Sherlock delighted, as the moving van  took John’s belongings from the flat and transported them to 221B. Sherlock threw a new case at John after three days and ran him all over London with danger at every turn, they caught bad men and filled out police reports then devoured each other’s bodies on the sofa in the living room for hour upon hour. Life was restored, loneliness banished from Sherlock’s life never to return; until that day John Watson had a heart attack at the age of seventy five and died in Sherlock’s arms. 

But Sherlock welcomed loneliness then. An old friend come to visit. He welcomed the depth and agony of it as it gave testament to his love of his John, he invited loneliness to stay for a while and burn his very soul to remind him of the loss and therefore the love. 

Sherlock Holmes knew loneliness in his lifetime. Sherlock Holmes also knew John Watson.

 


End file.
